


that you can keep your wrists clean

by transfinn



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Self Harm, no actual self harm but it's explicitly discussed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-26 01:03:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13846782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transfinn/pseuds/transfinn
Summary: Another thing that Yasha knew, of course, was when Molly's skin was begging to be cut open again.





	that you can keep your wrists clean

**Author's Note:**

> Projecting? Yeah
> 
> Title from [the abyss](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=27N-bhXnDns)

Mollymauk's scars itch. 

Not an itch that demands to be scratched, no, but that nagging feeling of needing to bleed and bleed and bleed because it's been too long. 

They were in Zadash, and they hadn't needed to fight in days, and fighting tended to be Molly's excuse to cut. 

Yasha knew about his problem, of course, but any attempt of hers to help fell flat when the circus was attacked by wild animals or bandits and Molly activated his swords and the cycle would start all over again. 

Another thing that Yasha knew, of course, was when his skin was begging to be cut open again. 

She'd met up with them the night before and immediately decided to share a room with Molly at the inn (no matter how much Beau wanted to room with her). Outwardly, he'd been glad that someone familiar would be with him, but inwardly he thought about how Yasha would stay up and make sure he didn't hurt himself. 

God, how badly he wanted to.

Instead of staying up late for drinks, Molly excuses himself at around ten and slips up to his room. He can feel Yasha's eyes watch him, can hear her get up to follow him upstairs. 

“Can't leave me alone, huh?” Molly stops in the center of their room. 

Yasha closes the door behind her. “Yes.”

“I don't understand why it matters to you so much.” Molly slips his coat off and unceremoniously drops it into the floor. 

“I care.” Yasha is a woman of few words. “I don't want to see you hurt.”

His swords follow his coat, ceremonial goodnight abandoned for now as he whirls to face Yasha. “Let me do what I want. I've hurt countless times. Once more is nothing.”

Yasha keeps her eyes level with Molly's gaze and says nothing. 

“Please leave.” Molly asks. 

She doesn't move. 

Molly sighs, turns away from her, picks up his swords, and begins his ceremony. He can feel Yasha’s eyes on him as he works, can feel her making sure that none of his blood is spilled. 

With skin practically screaming to be cut open, Molly stands up. He refuses to turn to Yasha. “Are you going to hold me while we sleep?”

“Yes.” Yasha replies. 

“You know it won't be long. We'll be on the open road again, or attacking something for someone, and I'll bleed.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you trying to help?”

Yasha’s silent for a long moment. “Like I said. I care about you. Is that so foreign?”

Molly has to think about it for a moment. At the carnival, they cared about him. They were family, and family cared about each other. Memories brewing just out of his reach say otherwise, though. Those memories say that family has never cared, that, that…

Against his best efforts, Molly begins to sob. 

Yasha steps forward and hugs him from behind and the contact makes Molly _bawl_ , unable to stifle the agonized cries and the tears that flow from his eyes. 

She picks him up and maneuvers him onto the single bed, lying down next to him and pulling his face into the crook of her neck. 

Molly lies there and cries and cries and cries, vague memories of _family is pain_ trying to overlap those of _family is love_.


End file.
